


a message

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 03:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 04/20: it's been long enough now to preface this with the information that it is bait with a twist ending. please do not actually ship real people.original description: things are getting worse for wilbur. schlatt shares a harsh truth.





	a message

forgetting to eat, for so long that the hunger erupts out of your throat and rags your brain towards the cupboard like something starved - as something starved that claws its way through your nerves. it's like a hot knife through butter, like a cold knife through skin, bursting out in a sluicing arc not of fetid gore but energy: ethereal, ephemera. it pirouettes and scissor kicks above your head, neat slices of sky just out of reach.

grounding yourself is a routine, the type that festers and shrivels with no time to heal. it's a kind of rictus ropeburn that takes over, a grin stretched wide over missing teeth and worried gums even as you run your tongue over each perfect canine.

every time you stumble out of the cloud, you wish for the chance to succumb instead. every single time it becomes harder to wrest the thought from your own hands.

you wake up, and run a hand through the negative space of an overdue haircut.

retrieving your makeup and the camera takes a while, even with the most methodical and efficient movements. these days, every ounce of spare energy goes to your head or to your hands. to the feverish clicking of keys and the feverish ticking of that inner doomsday clock.

there's one person that always makes it better, though.

nobody could explain what schlatt does for you. the man's positively goofy. he just exists in your vicinity - pretty fuckin' far away for a man who seems to live entirely in your earpiece - and radiates serotonin like nobody's business.

today is the day you both conquer rollercoaster tycoon and become merciless despots of tourism. heartless kings, tyrants over helpless people. you've been looking forward to the fictional devastation, in a way that scares you. because really, you're far less excited about the what than the wh-

"hey!"

and then you hear his voice, and the worry falls away. god, you're so in love.

"heya, wilbur. wilbur soot, is that in fact you there puttering around?"  
"that's right, dude. me, myself and i."  
"riding solo 'til you die? huh?"

that tears a chuckle from your declining stock. there's precious little to spare, but god knows he deserves it.

"yes, schlatt. riding solo until my fuckin'...demise. bleh."

at that he howls with laughter, bellows in glee until you can't help but join in. you're enamoured, if concerned. why are you both hamming it up like this so early? twitch isn't even booted up yet, never even mind the ordeal of setting up your layout. your eye is twitching again, trembling around of its own accord. damn it all. there's maybe a glass on the side to fill, and you know you left food...somewhere. how long's it been since you ate, again? has to be a day, at least.

schlatt finally quiets, and you tune back into the conversation with an apology and a malformed excuse. you zoned out, sorry, it's been a long week.

silence.

uncomfortable shifting.

silence.

"i-"

"was that a bit, wilbur? or like, was that serious? holy shit. what is even the punchline there - you're starving to death? i don't," uh oh, "i don't get it."

fuck, you were fucking mumbling your idiocy out loud. holy shit, he's going to ask questions you don't have answers to and then he'll never speak to you again. shit. fuck.

you apologise again, sharper, and the two of you lapse into something resembling quiet as you both prepare to pay the bills. that's when he does the unthinkable.

then schlatt turns on his webcam, and of course so do you because that's such a rare step for him and you want to carve how proud you are into the sun. you drink in his features, hydrated by a few languid blinks and a shrug. he's so pretty.

"i only have one thing to say to you," he says, and you can hear how much it hurts. you fucking adore him, but you hate this wretched conversation with every last fibre in your body.

he looks like he feels the same way. he glares at the shitty camera. his gaze does not soften.

"the fact that you're here," he says, measured and calm, "upsets me. the fact that you decided this was a good use of your time upsets me. you know i'm uncomfortable being shipped with people. you know i'm uncomfortable with romantic fanfiction." he shifts in his chair, and he looks right into your eyes, and you have fucked up.

"you know what? fuck you. you don't get to violate my autonomy as a person just so you have another gay romance to jack it to before heading out to another day of seventh grade. you don't get to screw around with my friendships because you think it's 'oh so cute', y'know? shit's unfair."

wait. wait...what?

"yeah, you. of course i'd never say this in real life; i've got fuckin' manners, unlike some of you dunces. but what matters to you more, you fetishising little dipshit, eh? good characterisation? or maybe my explicit fuckin' wish that you don't ship me with my friends?

goddamn, you do make me a little bit sick. write a story about us as friends, write something fun. write smplive members as pirates or knights or whatever."

a pause. a brief intermission, punctuated by deep and angry breaths.

"do whatever you want, in that department. fanworks make me so happy, man. they're my lifeblood! straight up. but don't try and force two friends together just because you want it to be that way. christ, man, just fuckin'...just do better. alright? alright."

do better. don't ship real people. keep it to your damn self. you don't get an ending, neither.


End file.
